Cut a little short
by QueenOfVenus
Summary: When Molly has a date Sherlock decides that the best cause of action is to insult her choice in men. Even if it does cut to close to home she'll forgive him, like always. To bad for Sherlock that Molly has grown a spine. Post fall. Disclaimer: not mine, Motffis.
1. Why are you wet?

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This story is set after the fall. I'm writing this as a one-shot, but if you want I can make it longer. Thoughts?**

 **...**

Molly stood infront of the mirror in her bedroom, running her fingers over her skirt. The black skater skirt stopped a little above her mid-thigh. An echo of her mother's voice rung in her head ' _If it doesn't reach the tips of you fingers, it's too short._ " She reached her hands down and the edge of the skirt only brushed the end of her middle fingers nail. _Too short..._ she thought to herself, smoothing her hands over the fabric. _No! I look good! The skirt is...sliming! And it looks nice with my pink top...maybe it's a bit too pink...No! I look good! I look-_

"You're going out dressed like that?" A deep baritone sounded behind her.

"Ahh! Sherlock...you scared me. How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. But really? Are you sure?"

"The skirt is supposed to be this short." Molly said defensively, stroking the fabric again.

"Of course it is." Sherlock said turning and leaving out the door and into the kitchen.

Molly followed him, her heels clicking along the kitchen tiles. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the plate of food lying on the table, completely untouched.

"You haven't even touched your food. What's wrong?" She asked, cleaning up the plate of cold carbonara. He was standing with his back to her, looking out the window. _He knows he shouldn't be standing near the window, let alone looking out of it. What is he thinking?_

"I won't be gone long." Molly started. "I'm just going on-"

"A date." He finished for her. "I wouldn't bother. It won't last long. He's in debt to his previous girlfriend, because he took money from her to pay of another debt in America. A rather hefty amount of money probably. He's only interested in you so he can pinch your money next."

"H...How could you have _possibly_ deduced that?" Molly spluttered. " You've never even met him!"

"I didn't need to. The note he wrote you." Sherlock gestured to the note on the table. "A note in itself suggests anxiety, but given the quite lude manner of speaking he is, in all respects, an overly self confident person. So why would he be nervous about asking a girl out? Now he could be gay, but with just a quick glance at the picture he slipped into the inside of the note proves that he is as straight as a steel ruler. Now on to the gambling. The shakiness of the writing over 'I'd like to take you out and _pay_ for dinner.' can show even a moron that he is having money problems. Wanting to take money from you? 'I'm not saying that you can't pay for yourself, I just want to show you I'm a gentleman.' Really, Molly. You should take more care with who you allow to woo you. It seems that every one you chose tries to manipulate you."

" _How dare you! They do_ _ **not**_ _!_ "Molly insisted.

"Really? You think so? How about we take a trip down memory lane: first there was Fred. Wasn't he sweet. Oh no wait, he was just using you to make his ex jealous. Huh... what about good old Jack? He was nice wasn't he? Except of him being gay and him using you to try and convince his mother otherwise."

" _Stop it..._ "

"Then there was Daniel, ah yes, the tax avoider, trying to get to you so he could get to Lestrade. Do I even need to mention Moriarty? And now we have... _Sebby_."

"I think you missed one."

"No. I didn't. Who?"

Molly hesitated a moment. Biting back the words she wanted to say. _You._.."I'm still going on the date Sherlock!"

"He's a bad kisser."

"Why would that matter." She snapped. "And how would you know he was a bad...Oh nevermind. You know what?" She said grabbing her bag and her jacket. " Have fun by yourself!" She yelled, slamming the front door in her wake.

...

Only three hours later Molly came storming back into the flat...soaking wet.

"Molly!" Sherlock called from the sitting room. "How was the date?...Why are you wet?"

Molly spun around to glare at him. "Deduce me." She bit out, holding out her arms.

Sherlock was slightly taken aback by Molly's harsh tone. This was sweet little Molly. His sweet little pathologist. "You're still mad?"

" _Noooo! I'm not mad at you at all! Why would I be?_..." She spat sarcastically.

"I don't...I-"

"You were right." She sighed defeatedly. "You were right about Sebastian...He was after my money."

"Molly..."

"He creeped me out. I'm not gonna lie." She stormed of towards the bathroom, Sherlock following her like a puppy. "He seemed so sweet at the hospital! And then..."

"Okay, but why are you wet?"

"Deduce me. I'm gonna have a shower and then go to bed."

"I asked you why you are wet!"

"And I told you to Deduce me! Are you having performance issues? Go on Sherlock, _Deduce me!_..."

They stood there staring at one another, and Sherlock wasn't sure quite for how long. He found himself watching the beads of water trail down from her forehead, down the side of her face, and down her long, elegant neck. As he watched on specifically large bead of water slip down past her collarbones and melted into her wet pink shirt he had to forced himself to look back into her eyes.

With a great huff of annoyance she pushed the door to the bathroom open and slammed it behind her. Sherlock stood out side, hand outstretched, wondering whether or not to knock. A few moments later he heard the shower start and knew that if he knock and tried to get in now, with her in the state she was is now, he would get slapped and kicked out for sure. He walked sadly back to the sofa and plopped down. His phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of him.

 **Trafalgar Square. 11:45pm. Ginger. Come alone, obviously. Head out. Tamson. Petal. Cobra. New Orleans. Kesgrave. Jackson Ness.**

 **MH**

Standing, Sherlock began to rush around the flat, picking up items and placing them in his backpack. After a quick glance at the clock (11:15) Sherlock put on the ginger wig, beard and blue beany.

Hand on the door, he pocketed one of Molly's spare keys and headed out. Locking the door behind him. After he climbed down the two sets of stairs, from the second floor to the lobby, Sherlock slipped out of the building, thankfully unnoticed. Sherlock turned back, the realisation that ' _Deduce me._ ' may be the last words he hears the sweet Molly Hopper say to him caused him to stop.

"I'm sorry Molly." He whispered into the darkness. "I'll just have to deduce you another time."

...

Molly stepped out of the shower and dressed. She had decided that now she was more or less calm, she would try and talk to him about personal space and the need to let people live their lives without someone else controlling them, but when she came out of the bathroom Sherlock wasn't there.

"Sherlock?" She called to the empty flat. There was no reply. "Where did he go?"

Molly spent the next thirty minutes searching her flat, and the thinking where he must have gone. She finally came to the conclusion that he must have been sent out to take down Moriarty's network. Sighing, she walked around and switched of all the lights before turning and heading to bed.

Down in the alley below, Sebastian Moran looked up at the bedroom window as the light switched off. A smile crept over his lips. _Brilliant. Now that Sherlock is gone, I have the perfect opportunity to take her. James is going to be ecstatic when he sees his birthday present._

...

 **Well...Look what happened. My mind said 'one shot' but my heart said 'series'...what do you think I should do. Leave it be, or continue? Review and leave your choice.**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


	2. I know when people lie to me

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **So yes, I have had a couple people ask me to make this a series, which I will happily do : )**

 **I'm kind of wanting to have this fic from Sherlock's Pov, cause as a psychology student I love the way his brain works. So I'm gonna base this within his experiences taking apart Moriarty's network before we get back to Molly. If you want me to get to Molly quicker though, just tell me and I'll dive right in!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I own no one except Yang Ai, Yang Bonan and Sharma Oro.**

 **...**

It had been three weeks since he had left London, and four since he had seen Molly. Her last words to him where stuck with him. He found himself hearing her voice when he was trying to figure something out, as if she was urging him on. _**Deduce me!**_

Sherlock had moved twice in the span of a month. Once was out of London to New Orleans, in the US, then from New Orleans to Mexico City. After bringing down that devision Mycroft had contacted him to tell him that his flight to Tokyo. He had to admit, his Japanese was a little rusty, but hay, what can you do. The jet would take him to the outskirts, where he would be dropped and left to fend for himself for another couple weeks. The name on his list was Yang Ai. According to Mycroft, Miss Yang's Sister, Bonan, and her lover, Iona, had been taken by the mafia there, so Yang was just as rearing to take them down as he was.

Hauling himself onto the jet, Sherlock allowed his guard to come down only slightly, getting the first restful moments he had had since leaving Molly's. He breathed in deeply. _Good buy Mexico, and good riddance. Forgive me if I don't come back for a while._

"Mr Holmes?" Sherlock looked up to the source of the voice. A short and sturdy man with short cropped hair. At seeing him his heart began to ache. " We will be leaving shortly, so I suggest you get in a seat and buckle up, it's gonna be bumpy." John sprung to mind. Sherlock felt the strongest desire to ignore the man completely, but an anchoring voice pulled him back from his grief. _**Deduce me.**_

Sherlock stood and looked down at the man. _Short hair, military. No tan line, North commission. 32 to 34 years old. Picture in cockpit, two children (one 12, one16) and wife. Ring on left ring finger, plus a matching ring on a chain around neck to small for his finger. Widowed. Wife died recently. Corporal._

"Alright, Corporal." He turned and sat in one of the seats on the jet, strapping in and gazing lazily out of the window. "Oh, and Corporal." He turned around to look at Sherlock. _**Be nice Sherlock.**_ Molly's voice spoke in his head. _**He has lost his wife and he can't see his kids, be kind. Be kind Sherlock.**_ "I am sorry for your loss."

The Corporal looked slightly taken aback, but nodded his thanks, before leaving for the cockpit.

...

Sherlock met Ai at the check point a day later. She came out from behind a pile of cardboard boxes. She was small, with long brown hair, put up in a high pony tail. She looked about 21 or 22, but no older.

"Alpha. Fox. Brother." Sherlock said to her, almost casually, and waited for her reply.

"Alpha. Húlì. Sister."

"Good, I am here to help with your mafia problem."

"Yes. Crime, is large at here. We have a big... problem."

"Tell me about the leaders of the mafia and what they have been up to."

"Sorry? Can you say it again..."

"Tell me who organizes the crime... and what they do."

"Ah, yes, but not here. Come." She signaled for him to follow her. She lead him through back streets and alleyways until she stopped at a modest looking house. Once inside she told him to sit down and they began to make plans.

She couldn't speak that much English, and his Japanese was still a little rusty so they conversed in both. She told him more of what had happened to her and her sister, and about the crime leader, Sharma Oro.

"So Sharma is a none womanizer?"

"A what?"

"好色之徒." Sherlock said, repeating the phrase in Japanese.

"Oh, yes."

"We can use this to our advantage."

"Are you suggest I make him like me as girl?"

"Yes, I'm suggesting you seduce him."

"Sudusse?"

"勾引, seduce."

"Oh, yes, se-duce."

They worked quickly. Sharma had a large company place with a is private organization of 'companions'. Yang Ai walked in with the rest of Sharma's prostitutes, as planned, and Sherlock crept in though the back while Ai distracted them. After that Sherlock was able to destroy all their documents, on drive and on paper, before transferring all their money to Yang Ai's bank account. The mafia was then left powerless, but Ai's sister, Bonan, shot Sharma in the head before anyone could stop her.

The next few days Sherlock spent with the Yang sisters. Bonan told him all about how Sharma and his men had kidnapped all the girls, beat them, gave them all sedatives, and forced them into prostitution. Sherlock listened to her story intently, comforting her with words when it was needed and leaving Bonan to cry against her sister's shoulder when she couldn't talk anymore.

Later that night, Bonan was in bed and Ai and Sherlock were sitting in the living room quietly. Ai had been telling him about how her girlfriend had been killed when Bonan was taken.

"She was brave. I was sedated first and I could barley move, so could not fight, but Iona, she fought Sharma's men. She fought his men to protect my sister when I could not. They only wanted young girls, and seeing as Iona was 24 they did not want her. They may have want me, but they take Bonan instead. She is only 18. They want to make sure they are untouched. And Bonan was. If she still is I don not know, but Iona... she was shot for putting up a fight..."

Sherlock listened and asked questions to try and let her remember happier times with her.

"What about you Sherlock? Is there woman in your life who have gone?"

"No. There is no one."

"That is not true. I see the sadness in your eye. You tell me of deducing and how you are a man who find truth when people don't want give it. Well I tell you now, Holmes, I may not deduce like you, but I know when people lie to me."

Sherlock sighed, giving in the the small girl. "There is one girl that has been on my mind more often then late."

"Tell me of her."

"She is a doctor. She helped kill me, and she looked after me in my deepest time of need."

"What happen before you leave for breaking Moriatry's network?"

So he told her the story.

 _Only three hours after Molly left for her date, she came storming back into the flat...soaking wet._

 _"Molly!" I called from the sitting room. "How was the date?...Why are you wet?"_

 _Molly spun around to glare at me. "Deduce me." She bit out, holding out her arms._

 _I must say, I was slightly taken aback by Molly's harsh tone. This was sweet little Molly. My sweet little pathologist. "You're still mad?"_

 _"Noooo! I'm not mad at you at all! Why would I be?..." She spat sarcastically._

 _"I don't...I-"_

 _"You were right." She sighed defeatedly. "You were right about Sebastian...He was after my money."_

 _"Molly..."_

 _"He creeped me out. I'm not gonna lie." She stormed of towards the bathroom and I followed her, wanting an explanation for her mood. And why she was wet. "He seemed so sweet at the hospital! And then..."_

 _"Okay, but why are you wet?"_

 _"Deduce me. I'm gonna have a shower and then go to bed."_

 _"I asked you why you are wet!"_

 _"And I told you to Deduce me! Are you having performance issues? Go on Sherlock, Deduce me!..."_

 _We were there for a while, just stood there staring at one another. I'm not sure quite how long. I kept finding myself watching the beads of water trail down from her forehead, down the side of her face, and down her long, elegant neck. It was strange, I don't usually look at woman, or anyone that way, but when Molly was standing there, wet and angry it... it was like I couldn't keep my eyes of her, like they were glued to her... I don't now._

 _With a big old huff of annoyance she pushed the door to the bathroom open and slammed it behind her. I stood out side, hand outstretched, wondering whether or not to knock. I wanted to. I really did... but I didn't. A few moments later I heard the shower start and knew that if I did knock and try to go in, with her in the state she was is now, I would have been slapped and kicked out for sure. I walked back to the sofa and sat down. It was then that my phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of me._

 _ **Trafalgar Square. 11:45pm. Ginger. Come alone, obviously. Head out. Tamson. Petal. Cobra. New Orleans. Kesgrave. Jackson Ness.**_

 _ **MH**_

 _So I stood up and began to rush around the flat, picking up items and placing them in my backpack. After a quick glance at the clock (11:15) so I put on the ginger wig, beard and blue beany._

 _Hand on the door, I pocketed one of Molly's spare keys and headed out. Locking the door behind me. After I climbed down the two sets of stairs, from the second floor to the lobby, I was able to slip out of the building, thankfully unnoticed. I turned back, the realisation that 'Deduce me.' may be the last words I hears the sweet Molly Hopper say to me caused me to stop. Doing this job... it's most likely going to get me killed..._

Ai listened this time, watching him is he re-told the story of the last time he saw the one he loved. Of course the brilliant man infront of her was to naive to see it.

"Sound to me like she was confused when she left the shower. Did you leave a note?"

"Well I d-" The phone in his pocket rung. He looked at it.

 **Yibin Toal. 1:30am. Grey. Come alone, obviously. Head out. Tamson. Saturn. Links. Moscow. File. Total. Dan Browning.**

 **MH**

"I'm sorry Ai, it seems I must go. Until next time, Yang Ai."

"直到下一次, Sherlock Holmes."

He smiled at her, his own words reflected back to him in Japanese. He had to say, he was very impressed, (and some what...proud) with how quickly Ai had polished of her English. Sure it was still broken, but he didn't need to repeat things in her own language quite as often as before.

He didn't want to admit it, but he would miss the odd quirks Ai had. She reminded him of all his friends back home. John's bravery and loyalty, Greg's awe at his ability to see through people's lies like glass, Mrs Hudson's kindness and hospitality, and Molly's ability to know when he was hiding something.

As he left the house he thought back to the first time he properly met Bonan. Sweet and small, with a fiery temper to contrast.

"The Yang sisters." He laughed under his breath. "I look forward to seeing what ou do in your futures."

...

Sherlock sat in the jet, heading for Russia. He glanced down at the sheet of paper he had been given once he got on board. This time the list was longer. He was going to have to stay in Russia for a while. Ai's words rung in his mind, _**You tell me of deducing and how you are a man who find truth when people don't want give it. Well I tell you now, Holmes, I may not deduce like you, but I know when people lie to me.**_ Had he been lying? He hadn't ment to... He had been telling the truth, hadn't he? Ai's broken English helped him to dismiss it as misinterpretation, but there was still a small voice in his mind that told him she had understood perfectly. That she had found out he was lying before even he had realized he had been.

Sherlock shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He forced that voice down into the cells of his mind palace, shoving Ai's words down with it. He locked the door with great effort, and throw away the key. Those thoughts were _not_ going to trouble him during his mission. The sooner he took down the network, the sooner he could go home and confront this ' _Molly problem_ ' head on.

...

 **So, here we have it. The end of chapter two. Hopefully you enjoyed it. I know there isn't much Molly, but I'd like to explore Sherlock coming to terms with his feelings for Molly before he confronts her. I've put the poor girl through enough in other stories, I think I'll let her have a little rest. Its only fair.**

 **Next chapter on Sunday.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing**


	3. You seem Distracted

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Next chapter, as promised. Here we got a bit of feels for Sherlock and his friends and Sherlock's struggles with '** _ **What the hell is Lestrade's first name?**_ **' Yay! More fun to follow. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: not mine. BBC 'Sherlock' belongs to Motffis.**

 **...**

Sherlock spent most of the flight in his mind palace, digging through to find the door labeled 'Russia'. Once he found it he extracted his Russian language and Russian culture. The other part of the flight he spent remembering his friends back in London. Boy, what Sherlock wouldn't give to hear John yell at him for being an arrogant prick, to hear Mrs Hudson tell him that she wasn't his housekeeper. He could almost hear Gavin, no, George... Gabbie?...Glen...whatever, Lestrade telling him he can't get him a specific case because it wasn't his devision. A smile crept onto his lips. He missed them, he knew it was useless sentimentality but he couldn't help but feel a loss at their absence.

Once he arrived he was meet with his handler from the Russian military (Mycroft had insisted that he had a new handler in each country. In Sherlock's opinion, he could handle himself just fine, but they were useful for information on the mission.) Ioseif was a little uptight but he didn't take too much and wouldn't ask stupid, obvious questions, so he was alright. The mission was over and done with within a three day span. _Well that was easy_.

The next few countries and missions flew by. As soon as Mycroft found a new crime syndicate that was connected to Moriarty he would make a list and send his little brother on his way. Bangladesh. Iran. Cape Verde. They rolled by, each seemingly getting easier as they went along. Afghanistan was particularly difficult, but not the mission, the place. Afghanistan just reminded him of John. It was around the time he was in Belgium that he started to feel like something was off.

"-and they have been stealing things, but in all the raids it is just gold that they take. They come across pearls, jewels, statues, paintings, works of art worth a fortune but it is only ever gold. We may want to set a trap by finding their goat and... Mr Holmes, are you even listening to me?"

Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace and faced the man infront of him. "What? Oh, yes. Sorry Marc, no. I stopped listening when you started talking about the nail file. What were you saying?"

"What were you thinking about? Douglas, your handler from-"

"Yes, Scotland, I remember."

"...Wales, said you were difficult but you don't seem disinterested. You seem... distracted."

Sherlock paused. Marc reminded him of Glen, ugh, Gretel...Gordon...No it's an Ed kind of thing...Bread, Head, Ed, Ged, Greg...Greg! "Greg!"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry I didn't mean to say that out loud... I feel like all of these missions are getting easier. At first I thought it was just me getting better, but now I'm starting to have my suspensions. The actual cases aren't getting easier, and I'm not getting better, it's just the people are making bigger and more obvious mistakes. It's like... It's like there is something else going on."

Sherlock and Marc pondered the words for a little while. Marc looked as though he was just about to say something when Sherlock jumped up and practical screamed "We need to contact my brother!"

...

On the fifth try, Mycroft final picked up the phone.

" _What is it brother mine?_ "

"I need you to check on all my friends and acquaintances."

" _Why? They were perfectly fine a few weeks ago._ "

"Yes but I think there is something going on. I just need you to check Myke, can you do that?... P...Please."

" _Fine. Since you asked so nicely._ "

Sherlock waited for a little while before he heard from Mycroft again. " _Alright, brother dear, all the information is being sent to your handler's laptop. It was Marc Philips yes?_ "

"Yes."

" _Good bye, Sherlock. Have fun._ "

Sherlock pocketed his phone and turned to Marc who was turning his computer around for Sherlock to see. He started to read.

John was fine. Dating a nurse, Mary. In no immediate danger.

Lestrade was fine. Divorced from his wife. Again. Doing fine at the Yard.

Mrs Hudson was fine. Still a landlady. Hip is getting better. All seems to be fine with her.

Molly was fine. She was still working at Barts. Still lived in her usual flat. And was dating again. (For some reason that made Sherlock feel a tight constricting in his chest. But she was allowed to date. He was fine with that. He didn't own her.)

He was about to click of the emails and think of another reason for the increasing ease of these missions when he saw _who_ Molly was dating. The Sebastian guy. The one that was put to steal her money. Sherlock, against his better judgement, decided to do research on this Sebastian.

He hadn't realized that it was getting late until Marc told him he was going to head to bed and leave him to it.

"Make sure you charge it, we may need to use it tomorrow to figure out a plan for Conan."

Sherlock spent a little while searching the web and hacking into cameras and files. By three in the morning he was running up the stairs to wake Marc and calling Mycroft.

"Mycroft...Yah I know it's early... Yes I agree... I agree you need your beauty sleep, but that doesn't matter right now... Oh suck it up Mycroft and get off your fat ass... We need a plane... Have you heard of Sebastian Moran?... Yes, the one that works for Moriarty... Well, the little fucker is _dating_ _ **my**_ _Molly_!"

...

Molly smoothed her hands over her yellow dress. Seb had really proven himself to her. Yes, Sherlock had told her he was after her money, but he actually seemed interested in her beyond money. She wasn't going to give him any, but he didn't seem to mind. They had been dating since a week after Sherlock had left.

She heard a knock at the door to her flat. She trotted over in her heels and opened it, to reveal a polished looking Seb.

He held his elbow out to her. "Are you ready for an evening out M'Lady?"

Molly giggled and slipped her arm through his. "More than you know."

"Hey, Moll?"

"Yes, Sebby?"

"When do I get to meet your friends?"

"When I get to meet yours."

"I'm not sure you'd like some of my friends. But there is one that is extremely excited to see you again."

"Again?"

"Ya, he pointed you out to me at the hospital."

"Oh, thats sweet. I can't wait to meet him."

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual."

...

 **Who's ready for Shezza to come back to London? Slowly but surely Sherlock is making his way back to our Molly, but how will he be able to convince Molly that the man she is dating is a criminal when he hasn't seen her for months?**

 **Next chapter on Wednesday**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	4. Why didn't you wake me?

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **I'm sorry that I've been away for so long. My Grandma passed away recently and it's been...tough for my family and I. I know what your thinking 'excuses excuses' but I just needed a bit of time to come to terms with it and say goodbye.**

 **On a different note, I have found that Sherlock needs a John like figure, a voice of reason, so Marc gets to stay! If he didn't Shezza would be running around in his mind palace for hours on end with no one to drag him out and actually do things.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing ... except Marc.**

 **...**

 _Sebastian Moran. Ex-American Military turned hired gun. Seemingly unlinked to Moriarty, but if you really look, most of his previous kills have all been tied other criminals, who's crimes did work for the consulting criminal. Ruthless. Murderer. Criminal. Mentally unstable ... And dating Molly Hooper._

Sherlock sat quietly in his seat on the flight from Brussels to London, hardly talking to anyone. His Mind Palace felt like it was constantly crumbling at the walls, so he spent a little less then half the fight patching up all the walls with reassurance, things that told him Molly _would_ be okay. The rest of the time he spent thinking about Moran, and more precisely, thinking about ways to painfully _kill_ Moran (So far, he was down to his top 8.)

"Mr. Holmes?" A voice spoke at his shoulder. "We will be landing soon."

Sherlock turned his head to see one of the flight attendants. He glanced down and read the stewards name tag. "Thank you Robert."

He nodded his head and left, leaving Sherlock, yet again, to be tormented by his own thoughts.

Marc was sitting next to him, every now and then trying to drag him into pointless conversation. Sherlock couldn't afford to be distracted. He had been concentrated for so long, not worrying about his friends, knowing that they would be safe with him far away from them (at least till the network was destroyed), but now Molly was in danger. And the danger didn't end at her, everyone she knew would be involved, and in turn, everyone he had tryed to protect in the first place. _Why does she never listen to me? Didn't I tell her to give up dating? For the sake of law and order?_

As Marc was trying in vain to draw him into conversation on terrible airplane food, _I have to agree with you there,_ Sherlock lent back in his chair, hands pressed together under his chin, and started to regulate his breathing. In his mind he concentrated on the 'Palace' he had constructed for him memories and information, picturing it with difficulty. He tryed and tryed again but the noise of nervous chatter and nonsensical conversation cut at his ears.

" **EVERYBODY SHUT UP!** " Sherlock yelled. The sound of voices and digital beeping stopped, reduced to heavy breathing and tapping thumbs. All eyes landed on him. Silence. Uncomfortable silence, but near not quite silence none the less.

Again Sherlock focused on his palace, ignoring the rustling of people in seats and shaky breath. This time he made it in.

...

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, or if he was looking for anything at all. Maybe he had just wanted the solitude his own mind provided him. As he navigated his own halls he found he himself walking in circles. He could turn left, right, head straight, or just plain turn around but he always ended up at one door. Molly's door. He remembered an old saying, ' _ **Mīlle viae dūcunt hominēs per saecula Rōmam**_ ' _A thousand roads lead men forever to Rome_. It seemed in this case, Molly Hooper was his Rome.

He avoided going in for a few rounds but eventually gave in. He needed the comfort her room provided.

Over time he had found that Molly's room in his mind palace had grown to be the most warm and comforting. Her room more closely resembled her flat, so really, _room_ was a relative term in her case. It was always warm and well lit. But the odd thing was that her 'room' didn't end at her flat. Next to her bathroom, on the other side of the hall to her kitchen, was an elevator that led down first to the Path Lab at Barts and then down to Molly's Morgue.

In quiet a lot of his down time he would retreat to her room. He would sit on her settee and watch old memories of her, outside of the hospital, on her small TV. He would go down to the lab and read through experiments he had done there with her. He would go down to the Morgue where he would watch his Mind Molly cut open past cadavers that had fascinated him when they had arrived in real life.

Now, he walked into the room and was taken aback by what he saw. The living room was turned over and in chaos. The bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchen were in similar states. Chairs where thrown across room, photo albums and books strewn across the floor. The biggest thing that struck him was that his Mind Molly hadn't greeted him at the door. He flew through the flat, looking under rubble and broken furniture for her. After the search in the flat proved fruitless he raced to the elevator. His heart was racing rapidly. That never happened in Molly's room. It was possibly the calmest and safest place in his mind palace (that is if you're not counting Mummy's armchair in the throne room).

The lab was empty but in the same state of chaos as the flat. Broken glass scattered around the floor. Upturned stools. The computer screen had been smashed. There was a strange smell coming from the corner. Sherlock turned his head and saw what it was. All of Molly's carefully organised chemicals had been thrown together, odd combinations where reacting all over the cabinets and in large puddles on the floor. Molly was nowhere in sight.

Then he stepped into the morgue.

And the room was practically on fire.

The blurry face of Sebastian Moran stood over a blood covered and screaming Molly. Moran's figure was distorted and rough, due to the bad quality pictures Sherlock had seen of the ex military, who was currently looming over the crying women Sherlock had found comfort in countless times, even if it was just in his head.

Molly looked up at him through tears and blood. He couldn't hear anything but what she was mouthing was unmistakable. ' _Save Me, Sherlock! Please!_ '

Moran's hands were tangled in Molly's ponytail, pulling her head up. Sherlock ran towards them, but the room stretched every step he took. The ground moved under his feet but Molly and Moran always stayed just put of his reach, no matter how fast he ran.

Molly kept on mouthing his name, over and over. He could almost hear her sweet voice.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock?"

...

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Sheeeerrlooock! Mr Holmes? Wake up!"

Marc was shaking him. Violently.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? SHERLOCK!"

"YES!" Sherlock yelled. "I'm fine, you moron. Have we landed?" He was a little pissed about the rude awakening, but mostly unsettled of what he had seen in his mind palace. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to convince himself that it was all in his head, that there was still time to save and protect her. Still time to save Molly.

"Yes, five minutes ago."

Sherlock's head snapped towards Marc. " _Five minutes ago?_ Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"Trust me, we tryed, but you were really in deep. It took a bit of ... gentle persuasion to not have the soldiers drag you off the plane themselves." Marc mumbled gesturing towards the two men standing, looking inpatient, next to the door.

"Gentle persuasion huh?" Sherlock said, poking the bruise that was forming on Marc's jaw.

"Stop that!" Marc slapped his hand away. "Now get your things. It is in my knowledge that you have a lady to get to."

...

 **Thought it'd be fun to go with Sherlock into his head and explore a bit.**

 **We'll get back to Molly in the next chapter, don't panic. Sherlock Holmes is back in England and ready to do some damage. Who's nose should we break first?**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	5. Even The Devil Was Once An Angel

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This one is gonna be a shorter chapter then the previous ones but that's only because this is more ... setting up for the bigger plot in the next few chapters.**

 **I promised Molly again and I'm kind of delivering ... You'll see what I mean.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own Marc and my own sick, twisted mind.**

 **...**

Sebastian watched Dr Hooper from across the table. It was safe to say that this new task James set him was definitely not his usual method. Seb was used to sitting perched at a high window, or on a roof, not sitting in a chair, at a restaurant, across from a woman. Hooper was at least tolerable, her job intrigued him and ... surprised him. Of course James had told him what she did, but when he was actually faced with the woman, she hardly seemed like the one to cut up rotting flesh and rip apart broken bones. She was _sweet, cute._ Weak. Seb found himself turning back to her job as a way to rid himself of the seemingly endless boredom that conversations with her consisted of.

He had had to convince her that Sherlock had been wrong ( which was quite hard considering the pathetic woman's belief in the man) then had to put up with ' _dating_ ' her for five months, nearly six. Seb was practically counting down the days till he could kill the bitch. And he'd have fun doing it too.

Hooper was talking about one of her friends, Meena, and Seb was pretending to be interested. Whilst she was blabbing on about the Nurse's social life, Seb caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes watching them. For a moment Seb smiled internally but then stopped himself when he realized the eyes were a light brown and not a bright blue.

He and Hopper finished their meals and headed back to her flat. It had become a sort of routine for them, they would go out and do something, whether it was eating food or a different mundane activity, and then they would head back to her flat for a glass of wine and a bit of ' _telly_ '.

Hooper was talking again but he had blocked it out, those brown eyes had been bothering him since they left the restaurant. Maybe the boffin detective had opted for contact lenses and came to watch them himself, or maybe it was someone else that he sent. Or maybe-

"Seb? Are you okay there, sweetie?" A different pare of Brown eyes were looking up at him, these once larger and richer in colour.

"Of course. Why do you ask?" Sebastian was having a little fun at least, practicing his English accent instead of just using his real American one, but every now and then when she pulled him out of deep thought he would slip back to his original. Luckily Hopper seemed to think of it as some what of a nervous tick he had when hiding a secret. Idiot woman.

"Well, your eyes were sort of ... glazed over and you were walking faster then usual. Are you sure you're fine?" She placed a soothing hand against his upper arm.

She was pretty he supposed. In a strange elvish way. And kind. Maybe the pair of eyes had been a jealous ex-boyfriend, and if her file was anything to go by, he had alot of options to choose form when deciding which one.

Her flat was small but homely. The one thing that didn't seem welcoming in the flat was her small tabby cat that loathed Sebastian with a raging passion. Every time Seb walked into the same room as the beast it would either stare him down with hatred in it's eyes, or full on attacked him, claws teeth and all.

"What are you feeling tonight?" Molly called from the kitchen, "Red and a movie, Rose and some crap reality show or White and and episode of ... whatever."

Seb pondered for a moment then answered, "Hmm, ... White." He didn't want to spend to much time there and with that he had the option of choosing a short show.

"White it is." She poured the glasses and settled on the sofa. Seb walked over to the small TV in the corner and switched it on, silently praying yet again that James would move the plans on farther, and quickly.

He settled down to the woman and put an arm around her. She stiffened. She always did that when he touched her. He had never been violent towards her and he knew that none of her previous boyfriends had been particularly abusive, if he discounted mentally. Maybe Hooper's subconscious was smarter then har conscious mind.

They settled on a sappy drama and sipped their drinks.

...

Sherlock was pacing the floors of the hotel room. Marc had gone out to see if he could gather any information on how Molly was doing. He hadn't heard back form him in over an hour and was starting to ware holes into the floor boards as he walked. Sherlock was on the verge of barrelling out of the room and down into the streets to find his handler when the door handle twisted and in stepped the man himself.

"Well!" Sherlock demanded, "How is she?"

"She is fine. The man she was with saw me briefly, but I hid myself after I had seen that I was caught. He is now at her flat, with her. After they stepped into her building all I could do was try and catch a glimps of them from her windows from out side the building." Marc said briefly.

"Alright."

"What, the situation or my English. I have been trying to get better but I have been told I punctuate to much but-" Sherlock glared at him coldly. "Alright."

Marc walked over to Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, you loved one will be fine. You are here now, you will be able to watch over her, like an angel."

"I'm no angel."

"Well, I beg to differ, Mr Holmes." Sherlock looked up into Marc's eyes, disbelief written plainly across his face.

"Really, because I am more a Demon then a Saint."

"Then you forget that despite popular belief, The Devil himself was an angel once. You are an angel to those you help Sherlock, a Guardian Angel to those who need help. And right now, your Molly needs help. Even if you don't think yourself an angel, at least act like one for her."

Sherlock looked up up at him. As he did he took time to study the man closer. Blonde hair, but with hardly noticeable grey streaks. Bright brown eyes that seemed older than he knew they actually were.

When Sherlock didn't say anything for a while, but was studying him with such intent, Marc started to grow nervous. "Did that not make sense? Did I have bad English? No ... did I have bad _Grammar_. Yes that is better ... would you like me to try and say it again."

Sherlock stood up quickly, knocking Marc back a few steps. "No that isn't needed Marc, but thank you." He walked over to the dresser and grabbed his phone of the top, the proceeded to stroll out the room. Marc chased after him.

"Sherlock!" Marc hissed ' _quietly_ '. "Where are you going?"

"To get John Watson."

Marc's heart skipped a beat and he raced forward grabbing Sherlock's arm. Sherlock tryed to shake him of and keep going but couldn't quite manage it.

"You can not. At least not yet. You must wait for the signal from your brother. It must be safe for both of you, and at the moment it isn't safe for _either_ of you!"

Sherlock whirled around. "Then how am I supposed to help Molly?" He asked angrily.

"With caution and care. There is no use saving her from this Sebastian Moran only for her to be endangered by another of Moriarty's people."

Sherlock stopped and considered Marc's words for a moment, then stopped and considered his own choices. Marc was right, as much as he hated to admit it, there was no sense is saving Molly only for her to be in danger again quickly after.

Without saying a word he stomped back into the hotel room.

"It is like taking care of a child." Marc said.

"Marc! I need assistance! Maaarc!" Sherlock whined and Marc rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Pourquoi dois- _je_ m'occuper de cet homme? S'il ne reçoit pas son chemin, il se _heurte_ , si je lui laisse tomber son chemin, il se met _en danger_. Il n'y a pas de gain!" Marc muttered to himself.

"I'm **NOT** a **MAN-CHILD**!" Sherlock complained from inside the room.

Marc rolled his eyes, "À quoi suis-je entré?"

...

 **I know, I know, this one is pretty short but think of it this way, if this one is short, that must mean there is more coming later on! For those of you that are a little confused, Marc if from Brussels in Belgium, where they speak both French and Flemish, I decided on French for Marc.**

 **Come back next week for the next chapter.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing**


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